


we're alright, we're just getting high

by gayfranzkafka



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: F/F, Found Family, M/M, celebrating a gay wedding, cute domestic bliss in the Pierce-Hunnicutt household, smoking weed, throwing a party, trying to bake a cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:46:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26273575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayfranzkafka/pseuds/gayfranzkafka
Summary: Margaret brings her new wife out to California to meet B.J. and Hawkeye. They throw a party for her. Peggy shows up with weed. Hawkeye tries to bake a cake. And so forth.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt & Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan, B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce & Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan, Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 63





	we're alright, we're just getting high

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [horaetio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horaetio/pseuds/horaetio) for beta reading for me!!!!
> 
> We have documents of licensed clergy performing marriage ceremonies for gay couples as early as ’54, so while these marriages were obviously not legally binding, Margaret & her wife having gotten married in UU church is entirely plausible.

It’s another lazy Sunday morning in the Pierce-Hunnicutt household. B.J. sneaks out before either Hawk or Erin is awake—fourteen years after the war, and B.J. is still glad whenever Hawkeye sleeps in—to go and get milk, the _Chronicle_ , and the Sunday _Times_. He’s hoping to be back before his family gets up, but he gets distracted, walking into one of the flower shops on Clement and browsing a little too long, picking up some lilies. And then, of course, he can’t resist popping into Green Apple Books, which just opened mere months ago. He doesn’t even end up buying anything, although he considers a new book of Hockney prints for a minute.

So, by the time B.J. gets back home, Hawkeye and Erin are both up, lounging in their bathrobes at the kitchen table, watching _Rocky & Bullwinkle_ and drinking coffee. Hawkeye looks up at B.J. and says, “Aw, Beej, are those flowers for me?”

As he reaches out for them, though, B.J. pulls them away, smiling, and says, “Well, they _were_ going to be for you, but now that I come home and see that you’re letting our daughter drink coffee, they’re for Margaret.”

“Erin’s sixteen, Beej. It’s not like we’re sitting here knocking back shots,” Hawkeye protests. Erin rolls her eyes at both of her dads, ignoring them in favor of continuing to watch the TV.

“Well, okay, yes, I’m glad you’re not doing shots with our teenage daughter on a Sunday morning. Is that really the standard we’re setting for ourselves? Anyway, drinking coffee could stunt her growth!”

At this, Erin looks up and says to B.J., “Dad, I’m 5’11. I _need_ to stunt my growth.”

B.J. sighs, but doesn’t try to take the coffee away from her, sensing that without Hawkeye on his side, this is an argument he will lose. Instead, he sets the milk in the fridge and the papers on the counter. Then he finds a vase, filling it with water and putting the lilies in it. “Have either of you _eaten_ anything?” he asks his family.

“I ate two bowls of cocoa puffs,” Erin volunteers. B.J. looks at Hawk.

“I _also_ ate two bowls of cocoa puffs,” he says. “And before you say anything, I need my strength for making the cake today.”

B.J. leans against the kitchen counter—there’s only enough room at the tiny kitchen table for two—and opens up the _Times_ , flipping to the reviews. As he does so, he says, “Remember when I told you that we could just _buy_ a cake?”

“I know, but that wouldn’t be nearly as fun,” Hawkeye says.

Sensing that her dads are going to keep talking over the cartoon, Erin gets up and turns off the TV, taking what’s left of her coffee and heading towards her room.

“Sweetheart, remember Aunt Margaret’s getting here at three today!” B.J. calls after her as she goes.

“I know!” she answers as the kitchen door swings shut behind her, her voice fading as she makes her way down the hall. “You’ve only told me like a million times!”

After she leaves, Hawkeye turns around and reaches vaguely for the paper. B.J. hands him the front section without having to be asked, but warns, “You’re going to make yourself crazy reading the headlines. With the amount of cocoa puffs you apparently ate for breakfast, you don’t need to throw elevated blood pressure into the mix today.”

Hawkeye ignores him, grabbing the paper and almost immediately exclaiming, “Listen to this! They’re sending more men to Vietnam… Forty-four civilians killed and over one hundred wounded on Thursday.”

“Listen to this, they’re reviving Brecht’s _Life of Galileo_ at the Lincoln center,” B.J. says.

Hawkeye looks up from his paper. “How can you ignore that, Beej? It’s Korea all over again, only the peace talks have been going on for much longer without anything getting done.”

“I’m not ignoring it, Hawk. We’ve been protesting, we’ve been bending the limits of legality getting kids out of the draft for medical conditions. We’re not going to solve this whole thing ourselves. Remember how we talked about with Margaret and Ella coming, and Passover coming up, we were going to give ourselves a bit of the break for just the next few days?”

Hawkeye sighs. “I just have a hard time looking away.”

“I’m not saying don’t read the paper. Only, maybe we can save it for Monday morning. Come on, come read this film review with me. Listen to this pull quote: ‘These post-depression Jewish intellectuals are everyone I grew up with.’ It’s a comedy about a funeral. Maybe we should go see this, sounds like our type of thing.”

Sighing again, Hawkeye sets the paper down and goes over to where B.J. is. Hawkeye wraps an arm around B.J. as he sort of sidles in next to him, leaning over to read the review. “As a formerly-depressed Jewish pseudo-intellectual myself,” he says, “I do have to admit I’m intrigued.”

Arms still around each other, they argue over a few reviews, but when B.J. tries to get Hawkeye to start the crossword with him, Hawkeye glances at the clock. “I probably really do need to start this cake,” he says. “If I’m going to have all three tiers done and iced before the party.”

B.J. pulls away from Hawkeye so he can look him squarely in the eyes as he closes the paper and says, “Sorry, you’re making a _three-tiered cake_ and you’re starting _now_?”

“Well, when else was I suppose to start?”

“You could have started yesterday! Can’t you freeze part of it?”

“But then it wouldn’t be _fresh_. This is their wedding, Beej, I can’t give them a subpar cake!”

“First of all, this isn’t their wedding, they got married in Boston. This is just us on the west coast having a very belated celebration of that. Second of all, not giving them a subpar cake would have been _buying one from an actual dessert store_.”

“But this is homemade! It’ll be filled with love! Love and lemon curd!”

“Wait, you’re making a _filled, three-tiered cake_ on the _day of the party_?” B.J. says. At this point, he can’t help himself. He just starts laughing.

“You won’t be laughing when I refuse to share any of my delicious cake with you,” Hawkeye says sourly.

“Hawk, there isn’t going to _be_ any cake to share with me in time for the party.” Then, after a pause, he adds, “Oh ho ho. Now, wait just a minute. I suddenly see _exactly_ what’s going on here.”

“I’m making a cake,” Hawkeye says. “That’s all that’s going on here.”

“ _You’re_ mad that Margaret didn’t invite us to the wedding, so you’re going to make her an extravagant cake from scratch to make her feel guilty. Hawk, you know they didn’t invite _anyone_ to the wedding. It’s not exactly the kind of ceremony you can make a public ordeal out of.”

“I know,” Hawkeye says. As he argues, he goes over to the pantry and starts pulling out ingredients that he’ll need. “And I’m making her a beautiful wedding cake from scratch to celebrate. I want it to make her happy. Mostly happy and a little guilty. Okay, fifty-fifty happy and guilty.”

At this, B.J. goes over to where Hawkeye is standing, still gathering things in the pantry, and wraps his arms around him, resting his chin on Hawkeye’s shoulder. “I would argue with you,” he says fondly into his ear, “but you are an unstoppable force.”

“Good thing I met my immovable object,” Hawkeye says. “Now let go of me. I need to start baking.”

“What if I don’t wanna let go of you?” B.J. says, squeezing his arms tighter around Hawkeye.

“Beej, I’m gonna drop the floor and sugar, and it’s gonna ruin our whole kitchen!”

“Oh, well, in that case…” B.J. says, and lets go of Hawkeye regretfully. Hawkeye sets the flour and sugar on the counter, then goes back to the pantry for baking power and vanilla extract. B.J. stands for a minute in the kitchen, just watching him fondly. Hawkeye puts the pink apron that B.J. bought for him as a Christmas present years ago, when Hawkeye first got into baking; it’s got little red hearts and a lace fringe at the bottom, all sewn on courtesy of B.J. himself. After donning the apron, Hawkeye goes out into the living, looking through their records before deciding on _Mixed Bag_ by Richie Havens. He puts it on, the dances back into the kitchen, leaving the swinging door propped open so he can listen as he bakes.

“What are you still doing here?” he says, affectionately, when he sees B.J. is still leaning against the kitchen counter. “Don’t you have some macho biking project to be working on?”

“I don’t know, I thought maybe I could hang around and help you bake,” B.J. says.

“I can’t work under that sort of pressure,” Hawkeye says.

“Hawk, we used to work together saving men’s lives in Korea. You’re telling me you’re shy about me watching you try and _bake a cake_?”

“Yeah, this is a much more high-pressure situation,” Hawkeye jokes. “Look, how about if I promise that if this cake is a success, I’ll be so overjoyed that we’ll have no choice but to make passionate love after the party is over, and all the guests have gone home?”

“And what about if the cake _isn’t_ a success?” B.J. says.

“Don’t worry, it will be,” Hawkeye says. “But if it’s not, you can hold me as I cry.”

“Equally as romantic,” B.J. says.

“Shut up and get out of here,” Hawkeye says.

“Fine, I’m going, I’m going! If you need me, I’ll be down in the garage,” B.J. says, laughing, making his way out of the kitchen.

***

A few hours later, after working on his bikes for a while, B.J. realizes it’s time for him to go get Margaret and Ella from the airport. He goes upstairs and pops his head into the kitchen, planning to quickly let Hawkeye know that he’s leaving, but he’s stopped when he sees the state that the kitchen’s in.

Almost every single surface appears to be covered in flour. At some point, Erin seems to have found her way into the kitchen, and she’s either been roped into helping or—more likely—convinced Hawkeye, despite himself, to let her help. He has a soft spot for Erin, and lets her get away with things he doesn’t even let B.J. get away with, like helping him bake. Both of them have flour in their hair and on their faces. There’s no music playing – B.J.’s guessing at some point a record ended, and they were both too caught up in baking to even notice, let along take the time to put on a new one. “Um, you guys doing okay in here?” B.J. asks, still standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

They both look up at him with the same dazed expression, having been so wrapped up in what they were doing as to not have noticed him until this moment. “Yes, we’re perfectly fine, Beej. Why wouldn’t we be?” Hawkeye says, in that slightly mocking tone of his that he only uses when he knows he’s fucked something up and doesn’t want to admit it.

“Frank is in way over his head, dad,” Erin says. Erin, knowing that Hawkeye’s full name is Benjamin Franklin, and having heard stories about Frank from the war, has taken up the very teenage habit of referring to Hawkeye as “Frank” only when she knows he is most at his wit’s end. Otherwise, she tends to refer to him simply as “Hawkeye,” although given the way she says it, and the way she acts around him, it’s clear to everyone that he’s just as much her dad as B.J. is. Hawkeye (along with B.J., Peggy, and Cynthia) _has_ been raising her since she was around five years old, after all.

“I am _not_ in way over my head,” Hawkeye says. “And if you keep talking like that, I’ll send you to your room.”

“I’m sixteen. You can’t send me to my room anymore,” Erin says.

“Keep undermining my baking prowess, and we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” Hawkeye replies.

“I’d just climb out the window.”

“Well, since you both seem to have things under control, I’m going to go pick up Margaret and Ella at the airport,” B.J. interjects. “Do you want me to put on another a record for you on my way out?”

Hawkeye says, “No” and Erin says, “Yes” at the exact same time.

“Can you put on the Beach Boys one? Please please please?” Erin says.

B.J. looks at Hawkeye, who sighs. “The Beach Boys record is fine,” Hawkeye says.

B.J. does so, then leaves his husband and daughter to their own devices as he heads down the stairs and out the door.

***

B.J. parks the car and makes his way to Margaret’s gate. He doesn’t have to wait long before passengers start disembarking. Anxiously, he looks for her face in the crowd; he only just has time to realize he’s spotted her when she comes barreling out of the crowd and into his arms. He hugs her tightly, picking her up off the ground and spinning her around. “Margaret!” he says, setting her back down. “Let me see the ring!”

As she holds it out to him, gloating, a demure-looking woman with an amused smile on her face comes up and stands beside Margaret.

“You must be Ella!” B.J. says delightedly, holding out his hand. Ella takes it, her handshake firm but warm.

“And you must be B.J.,” she says. “Margaret told me it’s the mustache that differentiates you two.”

B.J. laughs at that, offering to take Margaret and Ella’s bags. Margaret refuses, holding onto her own, so that she can slip one arm through B.J.’s as he leads her and Ella through the terminal and out to the parking lot. They make chitchat about how the flight went until they’re alone in the car. Once they all pile into the bug, which is barely big enough to hold all three of them plus the two bags, B.J. says happily, “So, how’s married life?”

“Oh, it’s just wonderful,” Margaret says, flushed and smiling in the backseat. Ella, in the front passenger’s side, turns around to smile at her.

“And no one blinks an eye?” B.J. says.

“Well, Ella’s married to Alexander on paper—you know Alexander, Charles’s concert pianist boyfriend—and since my place with Charles is two stories, we’ve just got it split into two apartments now. Of course, it’s the two of them living upstairs, and me and Ella living downstairs. But we’re discrete enough that no one in the neighborhood realizes just who lives on which story,” Margaret says, obviously pleased with herself. Then she continues, “But, oh, B.J., getting married in a real church, even if there was no one there but us and the minister… I didn’t even have that with Donald, you know. And Charles and I just went to the courthouse. So it really felt like my first time. We brought our wedding dresses in their dress bags and changed into them at the place. And the church, there, you know, it’s a great old building. You’d hardly believe it was the Unitarians who built it.”

Ella laughs at this.

“So is that what converted you?” B.J. says.

Ella laughs, “We don’t make you convert. We Unitarians aren’t picky. We’ll take almost anyone, even Margaret.”

“Be careful what you say about me up there, or I’m taking my ring off,” Margaret threatens from the backseat.

“Well, the Unitarians married me and Hawkeye a while ago, so I think their standards have been low for a while,” B.J. says.

“How are you and Hawkeye?” Margaret says. “How’s Erin?”

“She’s good. When she’s not being as incredibly petulant as probably any other sixteen-year-old, she’s a perfectly lovely girl. She’s picked up roller skating, and Hawkeye is convinced she’s going to break something.”

“And you’re not?” Margaret says.

B.J. sort of shrugs. “I bought her a helmet, knee and wrist pads, the whole deal. I drive motorcycles; there isn’t that much I can say without being a hypocrite.”

“It must run in the family,” Margaret says.

“What must?”

“Idiotic and unnecessary risk-taking.”

“Hey!” B.J. says. “You sound just like Hawkeye. I get enough of this from him.” When Ella laughs, he turns to her and says, “Just you wait. With the two of them reunited this weekend, you’re going to want me on your side.”

“Oh, I’m charming enough that I’m not worried about winning you over later,” Ella tells him.

Now it’s B.J.’s turn to laugh. He finds himself, sure enough, charmed already.

***

As they make their way up the stairs to the apartment, B.J. pauses and says, “I feel like I should warn you, Hawk might be a little… well, he’s got this project he’s been working on all day, and I don’t think it’s finished yet, only I don’t think he’d want me to tell you, but anyway…”

“I have no idea what you’re trying to warn me about, B.J. I’m sure whatever it is, I’ve seen worse from him before,” Margaret says, barreling past B.J. and into the house.

“Well then,” B.J. says, turning to Ella. They follow Margaret into the house, making it into the front hallway before they hear Hawkeye scream.

B.J. sets the bags on the ground, and he and Ella watch as Hawkeye chases Margaret out of the kitchen with a batter-covered whisk. He’s still got his apron on and is even more covered in flour and icing than when B.J. last saw him. “No looking at what I’m making!” Hawkeye says. “It’s a surprise!”

As Erin comes out of the kitchen behind Hawkeye, Margaret laughs. “What kind of greeting is that?” she says.

“It’s just _very_ important to me that you not see what’s in the kitchen yet, for reasons that will become clear later,” Hawkeye says.

For a second, the two of them just stand there staring at each other, and then Margaret says, “Oh, give me a hug, you idiot. I missed you!”

Hawkeye swoops her into a big hug, and she hugs him back, until she shrieks and pulls away, saying, “You’re getting whatever’s on that whisk in my _hair_!”

“Whoops,” Hawkeye says, looking down at the whisk, then going over to Ella. “And you must be Ella,” he says. “I’d give you a hug, but I don’t want to get batter in your hair too.”

“I’ll risk it,” she says, and gives him a hug, although he manages to keep the whisk away from her.

Erin, meanwhile, has run into Margaret’s arms, and Margaret is busy exclaiming about how tall she’s gotten in the last few years, which makes Erin scowl a little, but not too much, because it’s Aunt Margaret. Erin then perks up as she goes over and introduces herself to Ella, shaking Ella’s hand in the shy-yet-polite way that she has with strangers.

After the introductions are finished, Margaret walks over to where everyone else is standing and says, “Hawk, I’ve got a message from Trapper.”

“Oh?” he says. Hawkeye and Trapper had reconnected a few years after the war, and they’ve been on good terms ever since. Last time Hawkeye and B.J. flew out to Boston to visit Margaret and Charles, they’d gotten dinner with Trapper, and it had managed to ease any of the lingering jealousy B.J. felt over Trapper.

“Yeah,” Margaret says now. “Trapper told me to give your husband a kiss on his behalf!” And at this, she reaches up and pecks B.J. on the cheek before he has time to react.

When she pulls away, B.J. just stands there looking at her in shock for a moment. Hawkeye, on the other hand, immediately starts cracking up, kind of elbowing Ella in the ribs. Ella, seeing B.J.’s reaction, and having known what was coming, is trying to keep her laughter in out of respect for B.J., but is having a hard time keeping a straight face. Margaret laughs too, adding, “If only Trapper could see your face, Beej.”

B.J. says, “If I could see _Trapper’s_ face right now, I’d deck him,” but he’s laughing. “Really, though,” he says to Ella and Margaret. “Do either of you need anything? I know you’ve been flying for a while, and we’ve got people coming over in a few hours for the party. We’ve got showers, beds for napping in, glasses of water, my crazed husband brandishing a whisk…”

Ella and Margaret laugh, then turn to look at each other. “I’m fine,” Ella says. “Except for maybe a glass of water.”

“Same,” Margaret says.

“Are you really not going to let them in the kitchen, Hawkeye?” B.J. says. “You’re going to lock yourself away from our guests?”

“Look, they can come in into the kitchen, they just can’t look at the baking process,” Hawkeye says.

“How is _that_ supposed to work?” B.J. asks.

“We’ll—we’ll turn the kitchen chairs so they’re facing the other way. They can talk to me with their backs turned.”

“Oh, I’m so pleased to offer you such great hospitality,” B.J. tells Ella and Margaret. “Welcome! We’re throwing a party for you! But first you have to spend a few hours facing our wall!”

“It’s almost done!” Hawkeye says. “An hour. An hour more at most.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Margaret says. “We don’t mind.” Ella nods.

“See?” Hawkeye says. “Wait here. We’ll arrange it.” B.J. sighs, but then he follows Hawkeye and Erin into the kitchen to help them arrange the chairs.

Once the three of them are in the kitchen, Erin says to Hawkeye, “You know, we really have way longer than an hour to go on this cake. Plus, as soon as Annie comes over with Peggy and Cynthia, I’m going out with her, so you won’t have me to boss around anymore.”

“It’s absolutely fine that you’re going out with Annie soon, because you’re wrong, and we can most definitely finish this cake sometime in the next hour,” Hawkeye tells Erin, undeterred. Looking around the kitchen, though, B.J. has to agree with Erin’s assessment of the situation, even though he knows nothing about baking. It looks like the actual cake itself is cooked, but it’s not filled _and_ it’s not iced yet. Still, he doesn’t say anything as they arrange the chairs.

Hawkeye makes a big show of making Margaret and Ella close their eyes and leading them to the chairs so that they don’t see the cake. Ella is a great sport, finding the whole thing amusing, while Margaret keeps making quips. B.J. gives Margaret the lilies, and then all five of them begin talking almost non-stop. They’re all speaking over one another, trying to catch up on the last three years of each other’s lives. Erin wants to hear embarrassing stories about B.J. and Hawkeye, which Margaret has plenty of; Ella wants Hawkeye and B.J. to tell her embarrassing about Margaret, and vice versa; and Margaret wants to know all about how Erin’s doing in school and what she gets up to in her free time. In between stories, Erin keeps hissing at Hawkeye that he’s got the heat up too high on the double boiler, and that he’s going to burn the curd, which he does, and then they have to start over, and then he tells her she’s not stirring it fast enough, and she pouts and makes him take over.

A little bit before the guests are set to show up, they all hear the doorbell. “I’ll get it!” Erin says. “It’s probably mom and Cynthia and Annie!” She runs to the door.

“You know how it is being sixteen,” B.J. apologizes to Margaret. “She loves you, but she and Annie are going out to see _Casino Royale_ with some friends. She has a hard time hanging around the house with all us boring old folks.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Margaret says. “I want her to go have fun. I know how it is. Goodness knows I was a handful at sixteen.”

“You say that as if you’re not now,” Ella says, and Hawkeye snorts at that.

“Don’t make me regret marrying you,” Margaret warns.

“You could never,” Ella says.

At this point, Erin comes running back into the room, Annie, Cynthia, and Peggy following at a more normal pace behind her. After Ella gets introduced to everyone, Erin and Annie are quick to make their escape from the adults.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Hawkeye calls after him. The girls ignore him.

As they hear the front door shut, B.J. tells Hawkeye, “You know, you’re really leaving too many options open to them when the only limit you set is not doing something you wouldn’t do.”

“Oh, stop,” Hawkeye says. “Maybe back in my glory days, but now that I’ve finally aged in to my bad posture, I’m as tame as can be.”

“I hope not _too_ tame,” Peggy says, raising her eyebrows as she reaches into her purse.

“And just what is it that you have there?” B.J. says.

“Marijuana,” Peggy says, pulling the bag out of her purse to reveal a few pre-rolled joints.

Cynthia rolls her eyes. “I told her not to bring it. It’s their _wedding party_ , Peg. I don’t think it’s really that kind of party.”

“I know, but I couldn’t help myself. I just thought I’d offer. You know, since they’re out here all the way from Boston. Our little west-coast gift to you. Only if you want it.”

B.J. laughs. “And just how long have you been on this kick, Peg?”

“Oh, it’s been a few months,” Cynthia says. “She got it from some friend of hers. She thinks smoking it makes her hip or something.”

“I _am_ hip,” Peggy says. “And don’t act so high and mighty. You’ve smoked with me more than once yourself.”

Hawkeye laughs. “You sound just like Blossom Dearie.” He has finally succeeded on finishing the lemon curd, and he turns away from it now, apparently having decided to take a break. He begins to sing part of Blossom Dearie’s satirical song, mumbling through part of the lyrics that he can’t remember. “ _I'm hip, I'm no square / I'm alert, I'm awake, I'm aware / something something / I read Playboy magazine 'cause I'm hip._ ”

Peggy sings another part of the song back to Hawkeye, adding on to the joke. “ _I even call my girlfriend ‘man’._ ”

“If you’re taking a break from your, uh, project,” B.J. says to Hawkeye, “Can we move out of the kitchen, so Ella and Margaret can stop facing the wall?”

“Sure,” Hawkeye says. As everyone moves from the kitchen, through the small dining room, and into the living room, Ella gives Margaret a look.

“Oh, come on,” Margaret says. “I’m going to be meeting half these people for the first time tonight—you don’t know any of them—and you want us to _smoke that_?”

“I just think it could be fun,” Ella says as they all deposit themselves on various couches and chairs around the room. Peg and Cynthia settle into two chairs, Ella takes another.

B.J. and Hawkeye take the couch, and just as Margaret is about to go take the last chair next to Ella, Hawkeye reaches out from his spot on the couch and grabs Margaret around the waist, pulling her down onto the couch and practically into his lap. “Sit next to meee,” he tells her. “I feel like I haven’t even seen you yet.” Then he takes her hand, clutching it to his heart overdramatically, because the two of them still haven’t quite gotten out of the habit of having to play off little shows of affection as a joke.

“Well, I certainly haven’t seen _you_ ,” Margaret says, moving off of his lap but allowing him to still hold her hand. “On account of you making me face the wall of your kitchen for the past few hours.”

“You’ll be glad when you see why,” Hawkeye says.

Peggy, clearly bored with their bickering, sort of shakes her bag with the joints in it and says, “Well?”

B.J. turns to look at Hawkeye. “I have to agree with Ella. I think it could be fun.”

“Not everyone has to smoke,” Peggy adds. “Just some of us could.”

“Don’t ask my permission,” Hawkeye tells B.J., who’s still looking at him. “You’re a grown man. I trust you to make your own decisions.”

“Why don’t we go up on the roof?” B.J. says.

“Oooh, the roof!” Peggy says. “I haven’t been up there in ages.”

“The _roof_?” Margaret says.

“Yeah, there’s a window in the little office upstairs that you can open up right onto the roof,” B.J. says.

“I’m not really seeing the logic of climbing out onto a roof in order to get intoxicated,” Margaret says.

“Well, I don’t want to smoke it in here and have it stink up the place before the rest of the guests come over,” B.J. tells her. “And our backyard is basically just a tiny patch of grass. Practically all of our neighbors would see us if we went out there. So, the roof.”

“He just likes any excuse to climb out on the roof,” Hawkeye tells Margaret.

“Well, _I’m_ staying here,” Margaret says, “But if the rest of you want to go risk your necks up there, I won’t say a word.”

B.J. shrugs, giving Peg a look, and the two of them get up, giggling, to walk toward the stairs. Ella is quick to follow, and then Cynthia does too, rolling her eyes as she goes.

Margaret turns to Hawkeye, pulling her hand away from him and putting it on her hip. “You’re not going to go smoke with all the rest of the hooligans?”

“No, I’ve put my days of indulging in such childish actions behind me,” Hawkeye says.

At this, Margaret elbows him in the ribs and says, “No you haven’t.”

“Ow, I’ve been mortally wounded!” Hawkeye says, clutching at his chest over-dramatically. Then he turns to Margaret and says, “Please, nurse, would you kiss it better?”

She rolls her eyes. “Better remember I have a wife now.”

“The fact that you’re spoken for just makes you all the more appealing,” Hawkeye says.

Margaret laughs. “You’ll never stop, will you?”

“Oh, come on. You like the flattery.”

“You’re flattering _yourself_ if you think your idiotic prattling on could be described as _flattery_ ,” Margaret tells Hawkeye.

“It’s sweet-talk like that which makes you so irresistible to me,” Hawkeye says.

They lapse into silence for just a second before Margaret says, “You know, I’m glad we’re not smoking before everyone else comes over.”

“Oh, yes,” Hawkeye says. “I think it’s the mature, adult choice to make.”

“Yes,” Margaret says.

They only sit there for about thirty more seconds, though, before Hawkeye says, “But don’t you think, seeing as we’re obviously the only mature and responsible ones, that we should at least go check on how they’re doing?”

“Oh, yes,” Margaret says, already getting up off the couch. “It’s the responsible thing to do.”

When they make their way out onto the roof, they see the others standing around toward the middle of it. The roof is flat, and there’s a little ledge around the edges, so it’s not truly all that precarious. B.J. and Ella both cheer as Hawkeye and Margaret make their way over. B.J., who is currently holding the joint, pulls Hawkeye toward him and, arms around the other man, holds out the joint.

“Oh, no, no, I couldn’t,” Hawkeye says. “I don’t know what that stuff’ll do to me. I’m eccentric enough as it is, I think.”

Shrugging, B.J. takes another hit himself, then holds it out to Margaret, giving her a questioning look as he holds in the smoke for a second, before coughing it less-than-gracefully out.

“Margaret, I don’t know if you shoul—” Ella says, seeming to realize even as the words are coming out of her mouth that this is the exact wrong thing to say.

Margaret gives Ella a little glare and says, “Oh I shouldn’t, should I?” before taking the joint from B.J. and inhaling determinedly.

“Wow, the Unitarians really have been loosening you up,” Hawkeye says. Then, not one to be left out or outdone, especially not by Margaret, he adds, “Give me that,” and snatches it out of her hand almost before she’s done with it herself. Almost as soon as he inhales, he begins to cough so violently he doubles over and almost drops the joint.

“Woahhh there buddy, you okay?” B.J. says, making eye contact with Margaret and having to hold back a laugh as he pats Hawkeye comfortingly on the back.

Hawkeye straightens up and gives B.J. a dirty look. “Of course. I’m perfect. Peachy keen.”

“When is this stuff supposed to hit?” Margaret says, reaching out and taking the joint straight out of Hawkeye’s hand to take another drag.

“It takes a while,” Peg tells Margaret, looking amused. “Maybe fifteen minutes? Half an hour?”

“Hey, give that back,” Hawkeye says, taking the joint back from Margaret and taking another drag himself.

“Maybe you two should slow down and let the rest of us have a turn,” Ella says.

B.J. rolls his eyes, telling Ella, “This is just how they are. Trying to intervene won’t do any good. Last time Margaret was out here visiting, Erin had just gotten a copy of Monopoly for her birthday and wanted to play. The night nearly ended in tears.”

“They started fighting about the rules?” Ella asks.

“No, they started fighting about whether the game was ‘pro-capitalist propaganda’ or not,” B.J. says, and Ella laughs.

“The fact that the players are _competing to ‘win’ by getting a monopoly_ —“ Hawkeye starts to say, but B.J. cuts him off.

“I _really_ don’t think now is the time, Hawk,” he says.

The six of them stand up on the roof for a little while more, until they’ve collectively worked their way through a few joints. Then, B.J. says, “The guests will probably be arriving any minute,” and leads the way back inside.

“I’m going to—uh—I’m going to just. Work on my little project a bit more till they arrive,” Hawkeye says.

“Okay, sure,” B.J. says.

The guests do indeed start showing up not long after that. For a while, everything is going swimmingly. B.J. is introducing everyone to Margaret and Ella. Ella is charming everybody, and Margaret is charming some people. Peggy is over at B.J.’s record player, haven taken complete control of the music and put on The Turtles. Cynthia has introduced Ella to some of her friends from the queer Shabbats she throws, and they’re all taking navigating gay identity in religious spaces. B.J. is sort of off to the side of the party, giving himself a second to fondly regard his home, filled up with people he loves. Suddenly, Margaret appears out of nowhere and grabs his arm, digging her nails into it. “B.J.,” she hisses.

“Yes?” he says.

“I think,” she whispers, “that I am very intoxicated.”

B.J. laughs. “Well, good,” he says. “It’s a party.”

“It’s _not_ funny,” she hisses. “I think everyone here can tell that I am intoxicated.”

“Margaret, you’re currently standing in the corner talking to me. I don’t think anyone can tell anything.”

“What if my _bosses_ back in Boston find out about this?”

“Margaret, just _how_ , exactly, would they find out that you smoked pot at a party in California? Last time I checked, none of them were on the guest list.”

“But someone could call—someone could—if they _know_ I’m the head nurse there, and they _know_ I’m acting disgracefully, they could _call_ my bosses, and—“

“Margaret, Margaret,” B.J. says, extracting his arm from her death grip and putting both hands reassuringly on her shoulders, “All of our friends are a bunch of pansy communist degenerates. I don’t think any of them are going to _call up your boss in Boston_ and _report your drug use_.”

“I’m just—“ Margaret says.

“Look, Margaret,” B.J. says, linking an arm through hers. “I am going to be your personal escort. I will take you around the party, and talk to my friends, and make sure you come across as perfectly sober.”

“Oh, I don’t know if it’s such a good idea if I talk to a whole bunch of people right—“

“When have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Plenty of times!” Margaret says.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Margaret sighs. “Fine.”

For a little while, he takes her around to different groups, interjecting himself gracefully into their small talk, drawing out Margaret with questions, and overall making sure conversation flows smoothly. After about twenty minutes of this, as they are headed toward yet another group of people, Margaret says, “Hey, where’s Hawkeye?”

B.J. stops walking momentarily. “Shoot,” he says. He might be more stoned than he thought, because the party’s been going on for about half an hour, and he’s just now realizing that Hawkeye has yet to make an appearance. “I better go check on him, Margaret.”

“ _Don’t_ you leave me out here with all these strangers,” Margaret says. “Not in this state!”

“You’ll be fine,” B.J. says, steering her over to where Ella is still talking with Cynthia and her friends. Interrupting the conversation less-than-gracefully this time, B.J. present Margaret to Ella with a little flourish and says, “Your wife.” Providing no further explanation, he then heads to the kitchen.

He finds Hawkeye looking absolutely crazed. He apparently tried to put the filling into the cake, and part of the second tier is broken, with the filling spilling out. He’s also now trying to ice it, but the icing seems to be running down the sides of the cake. Somehow, Hawkeye has never looked more endearing to B.J. then he does now, standing there in his little pink apron full of distress over his ruined cake. B.J. smiles and goes over to where Hawkeye is, wrapping his arms around Hawkeye from behind and trying to rest his chin on Hawkeye’s shoulder. Hawkeye, unfortunately, gives a little jolt as B.J. comes up behind him, his shoulder knocking into B.J.’s jaw. B.J. pulls away just a little bit, leaning against the counter and rubbing his jaw.

“Sorry,” Hawkeye says. “Is it bad?”

“Is what bad?”

“Your jaw.”

“Oh. No, no, it’s fine.” Then, after a second’s hesitation, he asks, “How’s the cake going?”

“How does it _look_ like it’s going?” Hawkeye says.

B.J. avoids answering the question and instead says, “You know. None of the guests even know that there’s supposed to be a three-tiered cake at this party. And I think everyone’s missing you out there. You could just come out to the party with me and leave the cake for later. I miss you.”

Hawkeye, though, doesn’t even to seem to register that B.J.’s saying sweet things to him. Instead, he just says, “B.J., are you crazy! I can’t go out there!”

“Why not?” B.J. says.

“I want to finish this cake first.”

“Hawk, will you just forget about the cake?”

“I really need to finish this cake. I—“ Hawkeye looks up at B.J., then, away from the cake. “You really shouldn’t have let me smoke all that marijuana,” he says, then starts laughing.

 _Okay, well. This is where we’re at,_ B.J. thinks. “I didn’t let you smoke anything,” B.J. says. “You made the choice to smoke it on your own.”

“Only because my gorgeous hunk of a husband climbed onto our roof with his ex wife and Margaret’s wife and without me to smoke it first.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve suddenly decided to become jealous of Peg thirteen years after the divorce went through. I thought being jealous was sort of my bit, and I even I finally let the whole Trapper thing go.”

“There wasn’t _even_ a ‘whole Trapper thing’ to _let go_ , Beej,” Hawkeye says. “And anyway, I’m not jealous _of_ Peg. I’m just jealous that she. Is so good at smoking weed. And also why are you letting her play The Turtles at our party?”

“I’m not _letting_ her. Every time I go over there to try and change it, she asks me if that’s any way to treat my ex wife, and everyone standing near her heckles me.”

“Some friends we have,” Hawkeye says. “We should just throw them all out and start again. Send them home, I’ll make another cake next week, and we can have a whole new batch of people and a whole new batch of cake batch—cake batter.”

“Hawkeye, I really don’t think anyone cares about the cake.”

“I care about the cake!”

“I know,” B.J. says.

“I just feel like everything is moving really slowly.”

“What?”

“I mean, when I try and talk to you, by the time I’ve gotten to the end of the sentence, I forget what I said at the beginning of the sentence, and then I worry that I said something stupid. It doesn’t help matters that I tend to say some pretty long sentences. But if I just stay here, fixing this cake. This cake doesn’t know that I am high.”

“Okay,” B.J. says. “I think my husband officially smoked _too_ much marijuana earlier this evening.”

“I would have to agree with your diagnosis, Doctor Hunnicutt,” Hawkeye says, then starts laughing hysterically.

“Alright, well,” B.J. says. He thinks he might be a little high himself, because he doesn’t see an obvious solution to the problem. “Well. Well, if you would be kind enough to stay here with the cake, I will be back.”

“I would be more than happy to stay here with the cake,” Hawkeye says.

B.J. walks back out into the living room. He decides that because both Hawkeye and Margaret seem to be too high, and because Ella is married to Margaret, maybe he can get Margaret and Hawkeye in one place and ask Ella what to do about them. He goes back over to where Ella is still talking to the group Cynthia introduced her to, Margaret standing next to her. B.J. swoops in, putting one hand on Margaret’s shoulder and one on Ella’s, and says, very charmingly, “So sorry to interrupt, but do you mind if I borrow these two ladies for a second?”

Ella gives him a questioning glance, but allows B.J. to lead her and Margaret into the kitchen. As soon as they come in, Hawkeye throw his arms in front of the cake and says, “Don’t look!”

Ella politely looks away, and Margaret seems to have genuinely not noticed Hawkeye and the cake. She turns intently to Ella and says, “Everyone was _staring_ at me out there!”

B.J. laughs. “I think there’s a pretty clear explanation for that. You’re one of the two guests of honor, after all.”

“A guest of honor who’s been _embarrassing herself all evening_ ,” Margaret moans.

Ella puts an arm around Margaret’s shoulder and says, “Margaret, sweetie, I really think the pot is just making you paranoid.”

At this point, Hawkeye looks up from where he is still trying to hide the cake and says, half-sarcastically, “No, I think she’s right. I think they really were all staring because they think there’s something wrong with her.” This time, Margaret seems to register that he’s in the room and, looking over at him, she immediately notices the cake, which Hawkeye is not able to very adequately hide from view.

“What is that? A _cake_?” she says, and goes over to the other side of the counter, where Hawkeye is, to try and get a better look. Hawkeye turns around to face Margaret, still trying to block the cake from her view with his body. Every time she shuffles a little to the side to try and see it better, he also shuffles that way. Ella and B.J. watch the spectacle in bemusement without trying to intervene. Finally, Margaret succeeds in pushing Hawkeye aside.

“That is some sorry cake,” she says. B.J. sighs.

“Well, if _B.J._ had just _waited_ to bring you in here until I was _finished with itexactly_ what I did. What I am doing. What I was trying to do. Might still do. Might have done, were it not for B.J.’s interference. So if you’d just stop helping me make it—“

“You’ve been holed up in here missing the party because of this!” Margaret says, and even though she sounds indignant, it looks to B.J. like she’s tearing up a little.

“Well, that and I’m worried that none of my friends like me, and I’m going to make a complete fool of myself if I walk out there.”

Ella looks at B.J. as she says, “I think you two might both have had a _bit too much_ up on that roof earlier.”

“No, this is all just a usual part of my charming personality,” Hawkeye tells her.

“You’ll definitely make a fool of yourself if you walk out there with that cake,” Margaret says.

“Of all the indignities! After I spend my day wasting away to make this cake for you!”

“Well, I didn’t _ask_ you to make this cake for me,” Margaret says, still playing into the bit.

Hawkeye, though, get serious and says, “You also didn’t _ask_ me to come to the wedding.”

Margaret’s eyes go wide. Ella gives B.J. a sort of questioning glance and he leans over and whispers, “I think they’ll work it out if we just give them a minute.” Ella shrugs, and she and B.J., still leaning against the counter near the door, make themselves inconspicuous.

“Is _that_ what this is about?” Margaret says. “Hawk, you know I didn’t invite _anyone_ to the wedding.”

“I know, but—it’s just that—well, as much as it pains me to admit it, Margaret, you’ve been a very good friend to me throughout the years—some might even use the word ‘best’—and now you’ve run off and married some woman I don’t even know! No offense, Ella,” he adds very quickly. “You’re absolutely lovely, of course.”

She waves a hand at him. “It’s fine.”

Hawkeye turns back to Margaret. “I mean, how could the woman you marry not be the best? But it’s just that she’s got you attending a Unitarian church, and smoking weed on my roof, and it’s just that—well, you’ve got this whole life without me, now, and I just thought, if I made you this cake, you’d see—“ at this point, they both glance over at the cake, in its sorry state. Hawkeye finds himself unable to continue. What is he going to say? _I missed you, and I got worried about our friendship, and I thought that if I made you a wedding cake, then you’d have to love me for at least a few more years because of it?_ Something about the whole situation, about whatever his logic for making the cake was, about how badly it turned out, suddenly strikes Hawkeye as hilarious. “Well, I don’t know what I thought you’d see,” he finishes.

Margaret’s looking at him, and doing her best to look very serious, but Hawkeye can tell that she’s trying not to laugh. And seeing her trying so hard not to makes him start to crack a smile. They stare at each other for a few more seconds, each one of them unwilling to be the first to break the tension, until Hawkeye can’t help himself, and he starts laughing. At this point, Margaret joins in.

“I’m sorry, Hawk,” she says. “But it really is a very bad-looking cake.”

“No, I have to agree,” Hawkeye says. “I mean—it’s sort of—I mean—I don’t think we should make food that we need to hide inedible wooden sticks in because it can’t support its own weight.”

“You know,” Margaret says, turning to Hawkeye, “I bet it still tastes good.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hawkeye says, sort of sadly.

Instead of replying, Margaret makes very deliberate eye contact with Hawkeye and, with her bare hand, grabs a huge chunk out of the cake. She brings it to her mouth and takes a bite, the lemon custard filling running down her arm a little bit. Hawkeye, B.J., and Ella all stare at her in shock.

“It’s pretty good,” she declares, at which point the other three crack up. Hawkeye grabs his own piece of the cake and takes a bite.

“Hey, shouldn’t Margaret and Ella be feeding each other the cake?” B.J. says.

Hawkeye gives him a _very_ concerning-ly mischievous look then. “Well, you know, Ella got to marry Margaret, so I think the least she could do is let me be the one to feed her cake, as a consolation prize.”

“Hawk—“ B.J. starts to say, glancing apologetically at Ella.

Ella, however, just looks Hawkeye straight in the eyes and shrugs, saying, “That’s fine with me. You know, since, from what I hear, you did spend all three years of the war flirting with her shamelessly. Seems like a consolation prize is the least I can do.”

“Margaret, you’re not seriously going to go along with—“ B.J. starts.

Margaret raises an eyebrow at him. “Why? Jealous?” she says, and starts to crack up.

“Just because I had _some_ hang-ups about a _certain_ surgeon named Trapper—“ B.J. says.

“Shut up, B.J.,” Hawkeye says. “You’re ruining my moment with Margaret.” He grabs another chunk of cake, then turns to Margaret, eyebrows raised, as if asking if they’re really doing this. He reaches out delicately, but then, at the last moment, he smooshes it into her face.

“You—you idiot!” she shrieks. “You got it in my _hair_!” Hawkeye cackles, and Ella can’t help laughing either. Margaret grabs another piece of cake and, before Hawkeye can dodge out of the way, smooshes it into his face.

“Oh, Margaret,” he says jokingly. “Such passionate action on your part could only mean love.” At this point, he and Margaret begin full-on making out.

B.J. sighs, throwing his arms up in the air. “Oh, _here_ we go.” Ella’s still laughing, although it seems to be a little more in shock now. B.J. tells her, “This is far from the first time they’ve done this. Every party where they had a little bit too much to drink, they’d think this was absolutely the funniest thing in the world to do.”

Just when the length of time that they’ve been going at it gets really gratuitous, Margaret and Hawkeye pull away from each other, grinning. “Reconsidering those marriage vows now?” Hawkeye asks.

Margaret pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the continued confirmation that I really am a lesbian,” she says by way of reply.

“Come on, what are you two just standing around for!” Hawkeye says to Ella and B.J. “Come and have some cake.” He gestures to the now even-more-destroyed cake, and he and Margaret start cackling again.

B.J. says, “I think I will have some, thank you very much. I, however, will be using a fork to eat my slice. Ella, would you like some?” He goes over to the cake, nudging Hawkeye and Margaret out of the way a little bit so he can get a knife and some plates. Ella nods, and he cuts two slices. Hawkeye and Margaret go over to the kitchen sink and wash the cake off their hands and faces.

“Oh, you missed a spot,” Margaret tells Hawkeye, taking a wet paper towel and dabbing at his face while he tries to pull away from her. B.J. hands Ella a plate and a fork, and she sits down at the kitchen table to eat.

“Can you cut me a slice?” Hawkeye then asks B.J. sweetly.

B.J. hands him his own slice and cuts another, asking Margaret, “Do you want one?”

“Yes please,” she says.

Once she has her slice, Margaret goes over and takes the over chair, adjacent to where Ella is sitting at the kitchen table. Margaret scoots the chair around a little so she can put her feet up in Ella’s lap. Hawkeye, seeing that there are no chairs left for him and B.J., takes his slice and slides down to the floor, back resting against the counter. He then pats the floor next to him. B.J. slides down and sits close to Hawkeye, their legs tangled together, and Hawkeye lets his head rest briefly on B.J.’s shoulder.

They all eat in silence for a minute. When everyone is nearly done with their cake, B.J. says, “We really should rejoin the party. You know, the one we’re hosting.”

“I don’t know, I’m having a pretty good time just eating cake on the floor,” Hawkeye says.

“Hawk, you love parties.”

Hawkeye holds up his fork. “ _Usually_ I love parties. When I don’t get too stoned on accident.”

“Come on, I’m sure everyone out there has gotten too stoned at one point or another. Peggy’s apparently been lighting up for months now. I think we’re late to the party on this one.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Margaret says. “I have to agree with Hawkeye on this one. I think staying in the kitchen all night sounds like lots of fun.”

“No,” B.J. says, getting up off the ground, then reaching down to haul a reluctant Hawkeye up as well. “Come on. Up and at ‘em, everybody. Chop chop.”

Margaret starts laughing. “Who are you, Colonel Potter? Trying to instill discipline in the ranks?”

“No,” B.J. says. “If I were Colonel Potter, I’d be saying something like, ‘Buffalo chips! Just because you’re high doesn’t give you the excuse to miss your own party!’” Margaret laughs a little at that, as B.J. manages to do a pretty good imitation of Colonel Potter’s voice.

“Come on, he’s right,” Ella says, removing Margaret’s feet from her lap, so she can stand up.

“I have a great idea,” B.J. says as Margaret reluctantly stands up, “that will set you both at ease.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Margaret says.

“No, come on,” B.J. says, exiting the kitchen. The other three follow.

They haven’t been gone that long, and the party is still in full swing. A few people look over at them, but most are involved in their own conversations. That is, until B.J. walks into the center of the living room and stands up on a chair. At this point, Hawkeye kind of puts his head in his hands, and Margaret hides her face in Ella’s shoulder.

“Hello, hello,” B.J. says. “Peggy, could you turn that music down for just a moment?” Peggy does so, and everyone looks over at B.J. He reaches down and grabs the drink of one of his friends who’s standing near the chair, saying, “Can I borrow this for a minute? Great.” He then holds it up and says, “First, I would like to make a toast. A toast to the lovely Margaret and Ella. Hawkeye, Margaret, and I go way back, and we’re so pleased you’re all getting to meet her, and we’re so pleased that we’re getting to meet Ella. Margaret couldn’t have found a better wife for herself. And we couldn’t have found better friends, and we’re so glad you’re all here to celebrate with us.” He pauses, and everyone claps and cheers. Then he adds, “Before we return to the party, though, I have a question. We’re all friends here. We’re all, to some degree or another, hippies living in California. Let’s be honest: who here, at some point or another, has smoked pot and accidentally gotten too high?”

For a second, everyone just stares at B.J., unsure why he’s asking the question. B.J. says, “Come on, I’m serious! Show of hands!”

“I know I have!” Peggy calls from her place by the record player. People laugh, and one by one hands start to go up, until more than half the room has their hands raised.

B.J. turns to look down at Hawkeye. “See?” he says. “Now, I have to admit that we, the hosts of this party, may have indulged. We may have smoked some marijuana tonight up on the roof before you all arrived. And my beautiful husband and the lovely Margaret Houlihan may have smoked too much of it. But don’t we still want them to stay and have a good time with the rest of us?”

“We do!” Peggy yells, and the party cheers. At this, B.J. climbs back down from the chair, returns the drink to his friend, and Peggy turns back up the music.

“You have never embarrassed me so much before in my _life_ ,” Hawkeye says to B.J.

“Never?” B.J. says.

“Okay, maybe one or two times before. But still.”

“Come on,” B.J. says, wrapping Hawkeye in a hug. “Your friends love you, and I love you. Let’s go have fun.”

***

The party doesn’t wind down until the early hours of the morning. Hawkeye and Margaret, having spent most of it clinging to their respective spouses, seem to have both finally mellowed out. B.J. is half-heartedly going around cleaning up some of the glasses that people left lying around, so they won’t have to do everything tomorrow. Hawkeye follows him around, not helping, and saying, “See, I think _this_ is how you’re supposed to feel when you’re high. I think I smoked too much earlier. I just feel very calm, now, you know? B.J., you know what I’m talking about?”

“You certainly _sound_ very calm,” B.J. says, putting some more glasses into the trashcan he’s carrying around with him. Ella and Margaret are sitting on the couch, talking softly to each other.

“But I don’t feel tired. Isn’t pot supposed to make you tired?”

“It’s certainly making _me_ tired,” B.J. says.

“Oh, I know. Let’s climb up on the roof one more time before we go to sleep. Doesn’t that sound romantic? With the city lights at night?”

B.J. puts down the trashcan and turns to smile at Hawkeye. “Okay, yeah, let’s go climb out on the roof.”

At this point, Margaret looks up from her conversation with Ella. “Oh, I want to come too,” she says.

B.J. laughs. “Afterparty up on the roof!” he says. He starts dancing out of the living room, and Hawkeye runs up behind him, putting his hands on B.J.’s waist to form the smallest of conga lines. Margaret and gets up and falls in behind Hawkeye, and Ella behind her, and B.J. dances everybody up the stairs and to the window.

The temperature’s dropped a little since they were last up here, and the wind’s picked up as well. “Oh, it’s cold,” Margaret says. B.J. reaches out and wraps an arm around her without even thinking about it, pulling her in to huddle at his side. Hawkeye snuggles up to B.J.’s other side; Ella, standing on the other side of Margaret, reaches out and wraps her arms around Margaret as well, then rests her head on Margaret’s shoulder. They stand there all in a line, looking out over the city. The apartment building’s only two stories, but from where they are next to the presidio, they still have a pretty good view.

“I’ll never get over this,” Hawkeye says.

“Over what?” asks B.J.

“This.” He nods out at the view. “The city at night. Growing up in Crabapple, you know… there’s an undeniable beauty to country living, and in some ways, that’ll always feel like my home. But the novelty of seeing a city at night, with so many lights still on in all those houses off in the distance, and you know there’s people in each one, living their little lives so close to you… that’s it’s own kind of beauty. Every time I see it, it still strikes me like the first time, that trip down to Boston with the folks when I was a kid.”

“I think you’re still stoned,” Margaret says.

“Maybe,” Hawkeye says. “But I mean it. Ask me again in the morning, I’ll tell you the same thing.”

“So how did you like our little party, Margaret, Ella?” B.J. asks.

“Oh, it was lovely,” Ella says.

“I’ll have to come back some other time, so you can throw me one where I stay sober,” Margaret says.

“Oh, shush. Don’t talk about coming back when you just got here. We have you for the week!” B.J. says.

“Plenty of time to throw more parties,” Hawkeye adds.

Margaret laughs. “I think I’ve had my fill for now.”

“You could move out here, you know,” Hawkeye says, just a little part of himself meaning it. “We’d throw you a party every week.”

“I’d miss Boston,” Margaret says. There’s a pause, and then she says. “Isn’t that funny? To say I’d miss Boston? I spent practically my whole life moving around, city to city, country to country. And now here I am saying I’d miss Boston.”

“I don’t think it’s funny,” B.J. says. “I think it’s nice.”

“I love it there,” Margaret says. “I love the old brick buildings, and the cobblestone streets, and the way that I’ve been there so long now that so many places in the city hold significance for me.” She pauses, then asks Hawkeye, “Do you ever miss Maine?”

“I do,” He says. “All the time. It’s funny. The whole war, I couldn’t wait to get back to Crabapple. But then I came out here, to see B.J. just for the week, and now here I am, twelve years later. But we’ve talked about moving back out there, you know. Once Erin’s off in college.”

“Oh, I’d just love to be on the same coast as you two,” Margaret says. “I always felt just a little cheated, B.J., that you managed to steal him away from me so soon after the war was over.”

“Yes, but thank God he did,” Hawkeye says. “I don’t know what kind of sorry state I would’ve ended up in if he hadn’t.”

“I guess we’re the ones that lucked out, B.J.,” Ella laughs. “having our spouses move to our hometowns.”

“It’s not luck, really,” Margaret tells Ella. “I moved there for a lot of reasons, you know, and I obviously didn’t know you at the time. But when I first moved, I wasn’t necessarily planning to stay. After the war ended… it was good, that it ended, but it kind of shook my whole life up. Boston was just where I happened to land. I think I only really fell in love with the city when I fell in love with you.”

“Is this _my Margaret_ I hear being _sentimental_?” Hawkeye says. “Love really has changed you. Or maybe it’s the pot.”

“Oh, shut up,” she tells him. “Really, though. You will not hear me admitting this sober, but… becoming involved with the Unitarians through Ella is part of what made the city feel like it was _mine_. When I was a kid, I’d move around so much that what was familiar was my father, and the military regulations and trappings of wherever we went. The communities I was a part of, I was a part of because of him. In Boston, when I started finding gay community, it opened up the whole world to me. Here was this community with its own history, a community I was _choosing_ to be a part of.”

She continues, “And that’s how it feels with Unitarian Universalism, too. I think they’re all a bunch of absolute degenerates, in a lot of ways. I miss the music of my old church. I wish there were more Jesus in this one. But Ella and I are able to be open about our relationship to many of the people there, and that’s important to me. They married us. But more than that… it’s another community I feel like I’m choosing, and that I feel like is choosing me back. And it’s so young, and to live right next to the center of it*—it doesn’t feel like it’s set in its ways, yet. It feels like there’s an ongoing conversation to be had. And there’s a lot more work to be done, and I don’t agree with a lot of what they’re doing. But I like that it’s a religion where it feels like I can argue, and people will listen, even if they won’t always agree. It’s a religion that feels like a conversation, and I like that.”

“It’s funny that you say that,” Hawkeye says, “because that’s one of the things I’ve always liked best about Judaism too. The Talmud, and the conversation that’s continued on from there. How Judaism, for me, always feels like it’s about the questions, not the answers. How exegesis often almost takes the form of argument with the Torah, but in a way that feels like a form of love, for me.”

At this, B.J. can’t help himself. He leans over and gives Hawk a kiss. “So _that’s_ what it is,” he jokes. “When you’re arguing with me, you’re really just trying to tell me you love me.”

“It’s just me pulling your pigtails,” Hawkeye says. There’s a pause. Then he adds, “I’ve really missed you, Margaret. I mean it. I think I went a little crazy, earlier, with the cake—“

“You _think_?” she says.

“Shhh,” he says. “Shut up and let me say something sincere to you, for once, while I can still blame it on being stoned. All I’m saying is—well, I was just worried, with all the growing you’d been doing over the last three years, that maybe you’d grown apart from me. But seeing you, and meeting Ella, and hearing the way you talk about your life in Boston—B.J.’s right. It’s nice.”

“Thank you, Hawkeye,” Margaret says. “Hearing you say that, well—I don’t need the cake. This is a pretty good wedding present too.”

“Glad we have your blessing, Hawkeye,” Ella laughs.

“We _know_ you were just anxiously awaiting our approval,” B.J. jokes.

“Just a little, yeah,” Ella says.

“Well, you have it,” B.J. tells her. “Good job, Margaret. You picked a good one.”

The little group of four stand looking out over the city for a little while after that, until Margaret gets too cold and climbs back inside, at which point, everyone else follows her. They know they’ll have more time to talk: they have tomorrow morning, and the one after that, the week of visiting, the whole of their lives. Theirs is the kind of friendship that always bends without breaking, that reminds them of the people they were, while still opening up to allow space for the people they might become.

**Author's Note:**

> * The Unitarian Universalist Association, the central organizing body of Unitarian Universalism in America, is located in Beacon Hill, the neighborhood in Boston where Margaret & Ella live. Unitarian Universalism was founded in 1961 when the Unitarians and Universalists voted to merge, hence it's a very new religion at the time.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated ❤️


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